Spring in your jeans, in the laughing leaves
by Wasabi Monday
Summary: Debbie and Donnie, as times change.


**Fandom:** The Wild Thornberrys

**Fic Title:** Spring in your jeans, in the laughing leaves

**Summary:** Debbie and Donnie, as times change.

**Status:** WIP

**Pairing(s):** This is basically Debbie/Donnie friendship fic with some romantic elements mixed in when they're older, but nothing blatant.

**Rating:** G

**Warning(s):** None

**Disclaimer(s): **Everything you recognize from the cartoon is not mine. Credit for the title goes to Francesca Lia Block's _Wasteland._

* * *

Spring in your jeans, in the laughing leaves

Chapter 01: The sound that rain makes

Summer is high and hazy on the cracked dry earth of the African plain when Debbie starts teaching Donnie how to speak. She's alone in the Commvee reading a magazine until he trudges inside, panting and lobster-red. Upon catching sight of her, desperate garbled pleas issue from the back of his throat as he pantomimes the act of lifting a glass of water to his mouth.

For a brief moment, she considers feigning ignorance as to his meaning, but quickly discards the idea. Thirst is no laughing matter out here on the Serengeti, where the sun can burn the life from your veins, where heatstroke and dehydration are only minutes away.

She pours him a glass, throwing in a couple of ice cubes for good measure, while he waits eagerly by her side. Debbie wonders what would have happened if she hadn't understood him, if he fell in among people who didn't understand him, who couldn't see past the guttural accents and high-pitched cries of his own private language.

He tries to snatch the glass from her hand, but she deftly moves it out of range. He blinks up at her with a puzzled, heartbroken expression.

"This is water, Donnie," she says over the soft clink of ice cubes as she waves the glass tantalizingly in his face. "Repeat after me. _Water."_

His brow wrinkles and she can practically hear the thoughts racing in that wild little brain: _The heck is this crazy chick playing at? _He makes another grab for the glass, but she hoists it above her head.

"Nuh-uh. If you want it, you have to tell me what it is first," she sternly declares. "Say _water."_

Features scrunched, he gurgles a pitiful, frustrated moan as he jumps up and down in an attempt to reach the glass. The threads of Debbie's patience begin to fray.

"Water!" she snaps. "_Say _it, Jungle Boy!"

Donnie bounces to a standstill, feet locked, arms spread, a scraggly bush-warbler poised on the verge of flight. His eyebrows draw together in concentration as syllables begin to emerge from his puckered lips. "Wer... wa..."

"Yes, that's it," Debbie says encouragingly, leaning forward. "You're almost there. Water. Wa_ter."_

"Wa... war... wat---"

"Whew! It's boiling out there!" Eliza bursts into the Commvee, Darwin on her heels. "The waterhole's all dried up. Oh, hey, Donnie!" She flashes a cheerful metallic smile at the boy. "We wondered where you went."

Donnie brightens, buckteeth poking out from the tuck of his lips, then casts Debbie a hesitant glance. She heaves an exasperated sigh, resenting the interruption of this private moment, however uneasy and newfound.

"Oh, forget it! Here," she mutters, thrusting the glass of water out at him. He takes it as cautiously as if it were a bomb.

"Is everything okay, Debbie?" Although nonchalantly questioning, Eliza's tone bridles itself for yet another argument.

"Fine," Debbie says through clenched teeth, scowling at the grungy trio assembled in front of her. "Is it too much to ask for a few minutes of peace and quiet in this godforsaken place?"

Eliza narrows her eyes. "We were leaving, anyway," she huffs, pouring two glasses of icy lemonade for her and Darwin. When they've drunk their fill, they troop out of the Commvee with Donnie in tow, leaving Debbie alone once again.

*

The Thornberrys are having dinner on the plain, a barbecue meal by dusky twilight, when the first peals of thunder explode overhead. As one, they spring to their feet and manage to wrestle the food and utensils into the Commvee just as a heavy sheet of water cascades from the darkening sky.

"Where's Donnie?" Marianne asks, looking around.

They press their faces to the rain-spattered windows. The boy is still outside, limbs flailing wildly, feet splashing in the newly-formed puddles, laughing with joy.

Debbie stiffens as everyone's gazes slide onto her. She throws up her palms in resignation. "Fine, fine, I'll go get him. Ugh."

Grumbling to herself, she storms out of the Commvee. After the hot dry spell, the raindrops and the cold air feel refreshing against her skin, but she's not willing to let go of her irritation just yet.

"Donnie, inside! Now!" she yells.

He ignores her, dancing out of reach while continuing to giggle. She lunges for him, but slips on the ground that's turned to mud beneath her steps, falling face-first into the earth. Shrieking in disgust, she pulls herself into a sitting position, blinking water out of her eyes, cringing at the grimy wetness seeping into the seat of her jeans. Probably thinking it's another fun game, he joins her there, down in the dirt, babbling nonstop in his incoherent tongue.

"You are _so _going to regret this, Jungle Boy," she hisses, piercing him with a narrowed glare.

He grins back, oblivious to her venom, then points up at the sky from which rain continues to pour relentlessly.

"Water," he says, in a voice as rough as the parched, sun-baked earth before the wet season, as fragile as spring. "Water."

And Debbie, all dirty clothes and wet strands of hair plastered to her forehead, will always remember this moment, down here in the mud and among the mists, this silver moment of dirt and water, as the rains breathe new life into the Serengeti and the expression on Donnie's face is that of something reborn.

"Yeah, Donnie," she says at last. "Water from the sky. We call that _rain."_

"Ri... ran..." He struggles to replicate the sound, and it occurs to Debbie that the word _rain _is nothing like the sound that rain makes, the drips and the gurgles and the splashes, the booming thunder and the roaring winds. No wonder Donnie, growing up among the noises of the jungle, communicating with the world through his five senses, has such a hard time. "Re..."

"Watch my mouth," she tells him. "_Rain."_

He squints at her as she emphasizes the movement of her lips. "Rena... rin..."

"_Rain."_

"Ray... rain." His ears register the word, and he beams with triumph. "Rain."

Debbie can't help but smile. "You got it, wild child."

To be continued


End file.
